


Better Than Alright

by softgay (lovelymartin)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (probably), (we'll see), AU, Alternate Universe, Fluff, Hockey, Ice Skating, Light Angst, Like, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Slow Burn, figure skating, really minor ones though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-13 17:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5710750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelymartin/pseuds/softgay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Noya is just skating around before ice hockey practice when suddenly he crashes into the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen. But can a broke kid barely a year out of university who isn’t even good at the one sport he loves really win the love of Azumane Asahi?<br/>Oikawa is trying to get some last minute practice in before his figure skating competition, when he ends up butting heads with the captain of the hockey team. Which would be alright, only the captain is Iwaizumi, and he’s <i>hot</i>.<br/>When figure skaters and ice hockey players are involved, things don’t always go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nishinoya

**Author's Note:**

> _There's a smile on my face_   
>  _Knowing that together everything that's in our way_   
>  _We're better than alright_
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> yup, another fic. i'm sorry. Let's Not Be Alone Tonight is coming. eventually.  
> /softly sobbing

Nishinoya loved being on the ice. There was something so exhilarating, yet so calming, about the cold that still managed to soak through his layers of padding, the smooth slide of his skates against the slippery surface, the way the handle of his hockey stick fit perfectly in his gloved hands. Even when he wasn’t playing hockey, he still jumped at every opportunity to pull on his skates and hit the ice rink. That’s why he was here during open skating, a good two hours before his practice was supposed to start, cutting and weaving through crowds of couples taking selfies and little kids shuffling around on wobbly legs and teenage girls giggling and clinging to the wall. _Iwaizumi’s gonna be pissed_ , he thought, fleetingly, but pushed the thought out of his mind as Tanaka, his teammate and best friend, caught up to him, giving him a little shove that almost sent him reeling into the wall.

“Captain doesn’t have to know about this,” Tanaka grinned, breathlessly, as if he had read Noya’s thoughts.

“Nope,” Noya agreed. “Just try not to get me injured, k?”

Tanaka snorted. “Wouldn’t want our star forward getting hurt, now would we?” he taunted.

Noya responded by surging forward, pushing the taller man with all his strength. Tanaka lost his balance for a moment and nearly fell backwards, but managed to catch himself at the last second and skated away. He turned to face Noya once he’d created enough distance between them, gliding backwards and laughing maniacally, and Noya raced to catch up.

When he finally reached Tanaka, Noya tried to push him again. Tanaka dodged, ducking out of the way as Noya was thrown off balance and almost fell.

“You _asshole_ ,” Noya growled, throwing his whole body forward. Tanaka didn’t move out of the way this time, but met him head-on, pushing him backwards. They tussled for a moment, until finally Tanaka got the upper hand. He shoved the shorter man hard, sending him skidding backwards across the ice, completely out of control.

A man, big and stocky, jolted into his peripheral vision. Panicking, Noya tried to steer away towards the wall behind him, but it was too late. They crashed head-on, Noya’s tiny frame bouncing off of the bigger man and sliding backwards as he fell flat on his back. The cold soaked through his jeans and hoodie, but he was miraculously unhurt.

The other guy didn’t seem to be so lucky. As Noya pushed himself standing, he found the man still on the ground, face down with his head up against the base of the wall. Filled with a mixture of guilt and fear, he moved over to him, standing over the big man’s sprawled body.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, just loud enough for the other to hear. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I—are you hurt?”

The man pushed himself onto his side, and Noya was finally able to see his face in more detail. He looked about—shit, Noya couldn’t tell how old the man was, he could easily be in his thirties but something about his face made Noya think he wasn’t much older than Noya himself. He was just as big and scary up close as he was from far away, but at the same time, there was something about him that was...Noya couldn’t quite put a finger on it. What had seemed like a beard from far away was merely a layer of stubble, concentrated mainly on his chin, and his sharply chiseled jaw was smooth. Strands of hair had come loose from his bun, framing his face in a wispy brown halo, and his eyes were huge, the softest brown Noya had ever seen. He was _hot_ , Noya decided. Unbearably, gut-wrenchingly, heart-meltingly hot. Noya gulped.

“I...uh...I’m okay? I think?” the man finally said, blinking up at Noya. His voice was a little hoarse, but deep and throaty and _beautiful_.

“I’m so sorry,” Noya repeated. “I really don’t know what I was thinking—I was fucking around, I didn’t think—I really shouldn’t have been doing that—I’m really, really sorry—”

He was babbling now, he knew that, but all semblance of coherent thought had melted from his mind the instant he saw the man’s face. At least this guy didn’t seem like he wanted to beat Noya up or anything, despite his intimidating appearance. Gathering his wits about him finally, Noya cleared his throat, a little embarrassed. “Can you stand up?”

He extended a hand. Hesitantly, the man took it. Noya pulled him to his feet, surprised at how light he was. The man winced.

“Are you hurt at all?”

The man looked down, his arm shooting out to grip the wall behind him. One of his pant legs had ripped a little at the knee, and Noya could see blood where the skin was showing. “I-I’ll be fine,” he said, awkwardly. “I’m sorry to bother you, and all that.”

Noya looked at him incredulously. “ _I_ should be the one apologizing. Here, let’s get off the ice, and I’ll take a look at that knee. Did you hit your head at all?”

“N-no,” the man replied, as Noya led him towards the exit. They stepped down onto the floor, the man wobbling on the blades of his skates, and Noya helped him over to a bench. He sat down, and Noya knelt in front of him, untying and slipping off his shoe and then rolling up the pant leg that had ripped. The cut was big, though it didn’t look too deep, more of a scrape than anything, and he had a couple of tender-looking spots on his calf and ankle that would probably end up bruising pretty badly. The man looked down at Noya the whole time, and when Noya got up to get a wet paper towel from the bathroom he craned his neck to watch him leave.

Noya came back and began blotting the bloody scrape with the towel. The man’s beautiful brown eyes never left him. Finally, Noya looked up, meeting his stare. “What’s your name?” he asked, for lack of anything else to say.

The man looked puzzled. “Um...I’m Asahi. Why?”

Noya laughed, standing and trying to toss the paper towel into the trash can across the room. It missed, and he hurried over to drop it in. When he came back, he said, “‘Cause I wanted to know your name. Do I need to have a reason?”

Asahi shrugged. “I-I guess not. What’s _your_ name, then?”

Noya grinned. “Nishinoya Yuu, the one and only! Call me Noya.”

Asahi nodded, slowly. “Noya,” he repeated. Noya swallowed, hard. His name had _never_ sounded so good coming from someone else’s lips.

“So, Noya,” Asahi said, after a long moment. “What brings you to this ice rink?”

Noya considered the question for a moment, then sat down on the bench next to Asahi. “Eh, just doing a bit of skating with my buddy Ryuu before hockey practice, which is in…” he glanced back at the clock on the scoreboard on the back wall over the ice rink. “About an hour. You?”

Asahi bent forward and slowly rolled his pant leg back down, wincing a little. Noya guessed that he must’ve bruised his back, too, or perhaps his shoulder. “My friend Suga brought me here. He wanted to teach me how to skate—he’s a figure skater, and he claimed he could make me a pro, even though I’ve never skated before. I _told him_ something bad was going to happen if I let go of the wall, but he wouldn’t listen.”

Noya looked down, suddenly sheepish. “I’m really sorry about that.”

Asahi smiled weakly. “It’s okay.”

Noya felt a strong surge of guilt, staring at this gorgeous man and his pained smile. “No, I mean it. How can I make it up to you?”

Asahi placed a hand over Noya’s, resting on the bench. Noya’s stomach flip-flopped at the touch, and he quickly looked away.

“You really don’t have to,” Asahi said gently.

“No, I want to,” Noya insisted. He glanced down at Asahi’s hand again, still loosely wrapped over Noya’s wrist, and suddenly, he got an idea. A _stupid_ idea, but an idea nonetheless. “Hey, I got it,” he said, before he had time to change his mind. “Why don’t I take you to dinner?”

Asahi blinked up at him, his face blank. “Dinner?”

Noya nodded. “Yeah, dinner.”

“Like...a date?”

Noya grinned. No backing down now. “Yup.”

“If you want to, that is,” Noya added a moment later, almost as an afterthought. “I’m not gonna force you.”

“No, I mean, yes, I mean—that’s fine. Sure,” Asahi said, with sudden firmness. “I’ll do it.”

Noya’s face lit up, but he quickly got his expression under control. _Don’t wanna look_ too _excited._ “Okay, great. Meet me here in a few hours? My practice ends at six-thirty.”

Asahi nodded. “Yeah, I’ll meet you here. Thanks, by the way.”

Noya frowned, puzzled. “For what?”

“For helping me.”

Noya laughed. “In that case, thank _you_. For not beating me up.”

Confusion crossed Asahi’s beautiful face. “What?”

Noya grinned, impishly. “Don’t worry about it!” he called, already pushing his way through the throng of people clustered by the entrance to get back on the ice.

He had barely stepped onto the ice when Tanaka skated up to him, his face filled with worry.

“What happened?”

Noya looked away, trying to hold back the smile that was threatening to spread across his face. He and Tanaka started moving, following the flow of skaters moving in a circle around the outside of the rink. “You didn’t see? You pushed me into that guy, and he—”

Tanaka cut him off, impatiently. “No, I know _that_. I meant, what did he do to you? Was he pissed? Did he beat you up?”

Noya let out a guffaw. “Beat me up? Jeez, Ryuu, do I look like somebody who lets himself get beat up?”

Tanaka narrowed his eyes. “Considering the fact that you’re not even 160 centimeters and he looked like a goddamn bodybuilder, yes.”

Noya glared at his friend, resenting as always the quip about his height. “Well, he didn’t beat me up. He wasn’t even angry. I feel really bad, actually. I think I might’ve traumatized the guy.”

Tanaka sucked in a breath. “Damn, Noya. Did you at least make it up to him somehow? Offer to pay his skate rental fee, buy him a soda from the vending machine, _something_?”

Noya felt a sudden burst of giddiness. “Well, I asked him out.”

Tanaka’s jaw dropped. “You did _what_?”

Noya grinned. “I asked him out,” he repeated, proudly.

Tanaka facepalmed. “What the _hell_ , Noya?”

Noya didn’t respond for a moment, but looked over his shoulder. Their loop around the rink had taken them back to the entrance, and he could see Asahi, still sitting on the bench where Noya had left him. A slender silver-haired young man in a figure skating outfit was standing next to him. _That must be Suga,_ Noya thought as he and Tanaka passed by, weaving through the crowd of people trying to exit the rink.

“What?” Noya finally retorted, his tone defensive. “He’s hot, and I’m me, so I did us both a favor.”

Tanaka rolled his eyes. “And he said yes?”

“Yup! We’re meeting up after practice.”

“What’re you two going to do?” Tanaka asked. “Not ice skating, I hope.”

Noya shrugged. “Eh, I dunno. I’ll probably take him to dinner somewhere.”

Tanaka laughed. “With what money? Or were you planning on taking him to McDonald’s?”

Noya frowned. “You know, that’s not a bad idea,” he said, pensively. Tanaka let out a long sigh.

“Hey, do you want me to come too, as your bodyguard or something? In case he changes his mind about wanting to beat you up?”

Noya looked over at him. “No, I think I’m good. I’ll be the best hockey player in all of Japan before Asahi even _thinks_ about fighting anyone.”

Tanaka shook his head at his friend, but didn’t respond. They fell silent after that, and after a couple minutes, they fell back into their earlier rhythm. Noya almost forgot about his guilt and about Asahi for a moment, absorbed in the thrill of skating once more.

The spell was suddenly broken by the rink manager, who announced over the loudspeaker that open skating was ending and the rink was closing for two hours for hockey practice. Practice always started early on Fridays. Tanaka and Noya followed the crowd off of the ice, and made their way to the locker rooms to change. When they got back out onto the ice, the rest of the team was already there, warming up.

“You’re late,” Iwaizumi said, skating up to them. Noya backed up instinctively, his fear of the captain kicking in. Iwaizumi Hajime was a good-natured guy, Noya knew, but he was _big_ , and he didn’t have a lot of patience.

Tanaka quickly spoke up. “Sorry, Iwaizumi-san. We were stuck in traffic.” Noya nodded in agreement, maybe a bit overzealously. Iwaizumi looked them up and down, narrowing his eyes at the chunks of ice in Noya’s hair and on both men’s skates. Noya knew he didn’t believe them for a second, but luckily, he didn’t call them out.

“Alright, I’ll let it slide this time. Go do your warm ups with the rest of the team.”

“Thank you, Iwaizumi-san,” Noya and Tanaka said in unison, bowing their heads before taking off in the direction of their teammates.

 

* * *

 

“Was he pissed?”

Ukai, their coach, had just called the first water break, about thirty minutes into practice, and Noya had barely even stepped off the ice when he was practically swarmed by tall guys. He managed to squeeze past Bokuto and Kuroo to get over to the water bottles stacked under the bench, but as soon as he sat down, they were upon him again. Behind them, Tsukishima and Akaashi stood a couple steps back, far enough that they could pretend they weren’t at all interested despite the glaring evidence otherwise. Eagerly, Bokuto repeated the question.

“Was Iwaizumi-san pissed? You know, when you and Tanaka came late?”

Noya shrugged, taking a huge gulp of water and wiping his mouth. “No, not really. Ryuu told him we were stuck in traffic.”

Kuroo raised an eyebrow. “I saw you guys on the rink, though. During open skating.”

Noya laughed. “I never said we _were_ stuck in traffic.” Kuroo and Bokuto grinned at him, Bokuto giving him a hearty slap on the back.

“What were you doing out there?” Tsukishima’s low voice could barely be heard over Bokuto, but Noya could still hear the mocking edge in the blonde’s tone. “Hitting on figure skater girls, or whatever it is you idiots do?”

Noya wanted nothing more than to say, _well, actually…_ and tell them all about his encounter with Asahi, but he held it back. He didn’t know which would be worse, Bokuto and Kuroo’s obnoxious innuendoes and the inevitable chorus of “Oh-ho-ho?”s, or Tsukishima and Akaashi’s scorn, but he didn’t really want to find out. So instead, he merely shrugged and gave a noncommittal, “I dunno. Just skating around.”

At that moment, Ukai gave a shrill blow of his whistle to signify the end of the break, and Noya had to toss the water bottle down and follow the others back onto the ice. Immediately, Ukai signaled for them to begin a passing drill, and Iwaizumi started shouting orders, getting everyone into place.

As practice continued at a breakneck pace, Noya’s opportunities to let his mind drift to Asahi and their upcoming date were scarce, and he allowed himself to forget about everything and lose himself in the flow of the drills they were doing. For some reason, though, his mindset was different today. He was more aware than usual of his teammates’ skills and his relative lack thereof. As much as he loved playing and simply being on the ice, Noya couldn’t deny the fact that as a hockey player, he was mediocre at best. Sure, he was fast, and he had good reflexes, but beyond that, he didn’t have much. Not only that, but at only 159 centimeters, there was no way that Ukai could play him more than a couple of minutes during matches, even if he’d wanted to. Noya just couldn’t compete with the other forwards and the opposing defensemen, or so Ukai and Iwaizumi had told him. He was still determined to find a way.

Today, though, his resolve was slipping. Maybe it was just because he was distracted, but for some reason his teammates’ checks hurt more than normal. They were playing a scrimmage now; practice was almost over, and for once, Noya couldn’t wait for it to end. Not just because of how sore he was, from hitting the ice over and over again, but also because of what lay ahead. However, as the time crawled closer and closer, he started to feel nervous. His confidence from before, when he’d asked Asahi out, had long since fled him, and now he was beginning to regret his prior decision. So many things could go wrong: Asahi could change his mind after all, and decide to beat Noya up; he could just not show up altogether, and leave Noya hanging for the rest of eternity; hell, he could turn out to be straight, and spend the whole “date” feeling too uncomfortable to confess the truth until the very end. Or, instead of being uncomfortable, Noya’s forwardness could make him _angry_ ; Asahi could be a raging homophobe, for all Noya knew. He really knew _nothing_ about this guy, and he was growing more and more worried that he was going to regret ever talking to him.

His nervousness was starting to consume him, sending a deep chill through his body that had nothing to do with being on the ice. His stomach was churning, his head was swimming, and his legs felt like rubber. _Please_ , he thought, praying to no one in particular. _Please, just gimme a sign. Give me something so I know this is gonna turn out alright._

At that moment, he happened to glance over at the bleachers outside of the rink. There, sitting on the highest bench, wearing the same big sweater and messy man-bun he’d had earlier that day, having watched Noya flounder out on the ice for the past two hours, was none other than Asahi himself.

_Oh God, I’m so fucked._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the title, as well as the lyrics in the beginning notes, come from the song "Between the Raindrops" by Lifehouse
> 
> tsukki, bokuto, akaashi and kuroo's friendship thing in season 2 is everything i ever could've wanted good _bye_


	2. Oikawa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Come on, Tooru, get it together. Stop fantasizing about someone you just met. Especially since that someone gave you a fake cell phone number._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternate title: Hot Captain Hell
> 
> note: i kind of fucked up the timeline here...if you just keep in your mind that this chapter starts at around the same point in time that Chapter 1 started, you should be okay. sorry.
> 
> also, i'm gonna try to keep to roughly weekly updates with this. i can't make any promises, but that's my goal.
> 
> EDIT: we now have an estimated chapter count!!!! it's hella rough, though, so there's a good chance it'll change.

Oikawa Tooru was late.

It shouldn’t have bothered him too much: after all, being on time wasn’t usually one of his top priorities in life. As long as he showed up and got done what he needed to, it didn’t really matter _when_ he came, did it? But today was different. Today was Friday, which meant two things. The first was that tomorrow was Saturday, and the day of his competition. The second was that every Friday at four-thirty, the local men’s ice hockey team closed the rink for practice. Had today been any other day, being late to the rink wouldn’t have made a difference to Oikawa. Practice normally didn’t start until seven, and, as a result, Oikawa would’ve had almost three hours on the ice, which was still not as good as his usual five, but better than nothing. However, since today _was_ , after all, Friday, and the men’s practice would be followed by the youth teams’, Oikawa was faced with the realization that he would not have any time on the ice on this crucial day before his competition. This, he decided, was absolutely unacceptable.

Pulling on his skates anyway, in some desperate attempt to convince time to change its mind, he pushed through the crowd surrounding the rink entrance and stepped onto the ice. He looked up at the clock on the back wall. 4:21, it read. _God, I fucked this one up_ , he thought, but forced a grin onto his face anyway and skated to the center of the rink, narrowly escaping a head-on collision with two guys who appeared to be roughhousing on the ice. He gritted his teeth and tried to settle into a rhythm of concentration.

He barely managed to get a few spins in before the rink manager announced the closing of the rink for hockey practice. Mid-jump, the sudden rush of fury broke his concentration, and he messed up his landing and fell flat on his face on the ice. Immediately, he scrambled to his feet, too furious to even check if anyone had seen his mistake, and made his way off the ice. _This is bad_ , he thought, as he headed in the direction of the manager’s office, not even bothering to take off his skates, even though he knew it was terrible for the blades. _This is really bad. God damnit, if I lose tomorrow because of this, I’ll—_  He didn’t bother to finish that thought, but his mind was a flurry of anger, cold and thick as a blizzard.

“How can I help you?”

Oikawa hadn’t even realized he’d reached the manager’s desk. He took a moment to compose himself before answering.

“I’m wondering if there’s any way you can keep the rink open a little longer? You see, I have a big figure skating competition tomorrow, and I really need the extra practice time…” It took all of his effort to stay polite; he wanted nothing more than to yell, _if I lose tomorrow, it’s all your fault! You and the damn hockey team!_ , to whine and to blame, but he knew it would get him nowhere.

The manager sighed, and Oikawa tried to keep his expression calm.

“I understand,” she said cooly. “But unfortunately, the hockey team has already rented the rink, and there’s nothing I can do. It’s something you would’ve had to work out with the team, not with me. I’m sorry.”

Oikawa nodded slowly, a smile creeping across his face in spite of everything. “Okay, thanks. I’ll talk to them right now.”

The manager looked at him, taken aback. “That’s not what I meant—” she started to say, but he was already out the door.

Oikawa was grinning by the time he made it back on the ice, heading straight for the penalty box, where the coach would surely be sitting. It was a desperate move, he knew, and the chances of it actually working were next to none, but it was all he had. He was so focused that when one of the players skated right towards into him, he barely had time to move out of the way, and the other man’s outstretched arm hit him square in the face. The man stopped short in front of him, immediately letting out a stream of apologies that Oikawa barely heard. Abruptly, his voice broke off, and he started to stare.

Oikawa knew he must look quite the sight, still in his tight-fitting figure skating outfit, red-faced and wild-haired. However, it wasn’t like this man looked much better. Practice had barely started, but he was already drenched in sweat, and wearing a ridiculous amount of layers, although that was normal for a hockey player. No one should be able to look good like that, Oikawa knew, and yet…

_This has gotta be the hottest guy in the world. I just got hit in the face by the hottest man in the entire world. And he’s wearing 18 layers of padding and about to kick me off the ice. I am absolutely screwed._

He looked to be around Oikawa’s age, with perfect tanned skin and thick slightly-spiky dark hair and beautiful brown eyes. Despite all the layers of clothing he was wearing, Oikawa could tell he was muscular—only natural for a hockey player, especially a hot one—and though he was a little shorter than Oikawa, he looked big and strong, in contrast to Oikawa’s slender, willowy build. He was, without a doubt—

“Absolutely perfect,” Oikawa muttered, freezing in horror a second later when he realized he’d said that out loud.

“Excuse me?” the hottest man in the world asked. His voice was low and rough and amazing.

“Um, nothing,” Oikawa immediately responded. He was _not_ going to lose his cool. “Do you guys have a coach I can talk to? Or, like, a captain or something?”

“Well, I’m the captain, so, uh...What do you need?”

Suddenly, all purpose fled from Oikawa’s brain. “Oh, um, well, I was just going to ask…” _Shit. Fuck. Say something, Tooru._ “I was just gonna ask for your, uh, your name. And your phone number. And maybe your hand in marriage.” _Not that, goddammit._ “Actually, no, I lied. Just your name is fine.”

So much for not losing his cool.

The other man was speechless for a second, obviously trying to process what had just happened. Oikawa tried to smile, adding in a half-hearted wink to seal the deal. Maybe if he played it off as intentional, this might not end so badly.

Finally, the captain responded.

“Oh, uh...I’m Iwaizumi Hajime. You, um...you can have my number if you want. M-maybe we can hold off on the marriage thing, though.”

Oikawa nodded slowly. This Iwaizumi seemed flustered too, perhaps even more so than Oikawa, or he was just worse at hiding it. His smile suddenly felt genuine.

“Yeah, no, that’s good. I wasn’t actually serious about marrying you, _obviously_ , it was just a funny joke. Well, maybe it wasn’t funny, so I guess it was just a joke then. I don’t know. Oh, and thanks, by the way. My name’s Oikawa Tooru.”

_Smooth, Tooru. Hell, picking up girls is a lot easier when they’re actually girls. And not hot hockey captains._

“Nice to, uh, nice to meet you, Oikawa.” Iwaizumi responded, a sheepish smile on his face. “I would shake your hand, but I’m kinda sweaty, so, uh...H-here, lemme get some paper from my bag and I’ll write down my number for you. Wait right here—I’ll be right back.”

With that, he took off, heading towards the penalty box. Oikawa followed him with his gaze; none of the other hockey team members seemed to have noticed that anything out of the ordinary had just taken place.

Moments later, Iwaizumi returned, and sheepishly handed Oikawa a little slip of paper. Iwaizumi’s face seemed even redder than before, Oikawa noticed, and he couldn’t help but smiling as he took the man’s number.

“Thanks,” Oikawa said, a little awkwardly. “I’ll text you later?”

Iwaizumi nodded. “S-sure.”

He glanced past Oikawa for a moment, and seemed to come to his senses. “Shit, um, I gotta go. Looks like Nishinoya and Tanaka just got here, so I gotta go yell at them for being late. They’ll probably have some dumb excuse...uh, let’s talk later, okay? Text me.”

Oikawa chuckled. “Alright. See ya, Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi skated off in the direction of the entrance, where two other young guys in hockey clothes were standing. As Oikawa watched him leave, he realized he’d completely forgotten to bargain for more time on the ice, which was the sole reason he’d come to talk to the captain in the first place. Oh, well. At least he accomplished _something_ out of that, even if it wasn’t what he’d expected.

As he headed back towards the entrance, passing by the two latecomers, who ignored him completely, and Iwaizumi, who flashed a slightly sheepish smile at him, he couldn’t help replaying that whole conversation in his mind. Usually he was so good at flirting with people, and he was rarely ever as awkward around other people as he was just then, even when said people were extremely attractive, as Iwaizumi was. Maybe it was the unexpectedness of the whole situation, he reasoned. Normally he made a conscious decision to go hit on someone, but this time, he hadn’t seen it coming until it had hit him in the face, quite literally.

He stepped off the ice, still gripping the paper with Iwaizumi’s number tight in his fist, and made his way over to a bench. Quickly, he took off his skates and wiped down the blades, then slipped on the blade guards. He pulled out his phone and typed the number into a new contact. He named it “Iwa-chan”—a perfect nickname for a perfect man—and, after a moment’s hesitation, added a heart emoji next to it. The blue one, though; Oikawa decided he’d wait until they were actually dating to give him the red one. They _were_ going to date; Oikawa was going to make sure of it. First, though, he had to text him.

This proved to be easier said than done. Finally, after what felt like hours of deliberation, Oikawa finally decided on “hi this is oikawa”. Eagerly, he pressed send.

One minute passed, and then two. He finally managed to tear his eyes away from the phone screen, remembering that Iwaizumi was still at practice, and probably wouldn’t look at his phone for a couple more hours. Sighing, he put his phone down on the bench next to him, and finished wiping down the leather boot parts of his skates. After letting them dry for a few minutes, he put them in his bag, and was just about to leave when he felt his phone vibrate. Buzzing with excitement, he unlocked the screen and opened up the message.

“Message Delivery Failure – 05:03 PM”

Confused, he checked his phone’s connection. Full bars, plus he was connected to the indoor rink’s wifi network. There was no way something had gone wrong on his end...which meant there had to be a problem with the number Iwaizumi had given him. His heart sinking, he tried calling it.

“I’m sorry. The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected, and cannot receive calls at this time.”

_Iwaizumi, you bastard._

 

* * *

 

Oikawa Tooru was at a loss.

There was no doubt about it; Iwaizumi had given him a fake number. The real question was why.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it the entire way home from the rink; even when he let himself into his apartment, turned on all the lights and tossed his bag across the room and flopped down on his stomach on the couch, he was still mulling it over, and still just as baffled by the whole thing. Never in his life had someone done that to him. Even when he’d hit on girls (or guys) who clearly didn’t like him–which was still a rare occasion; Oikawa had his dashing good looks and charming personality to thank for that–they _never_ went so far as to give him a fake number. To be fair, they’d usually either give him their real number and then never text or call back, or refuse to trade numbers entirely, but _still_. That was one thing. Lying was another.

He kept on going back to the conversation they’d had, replaying it over and over in his mind, searching for some detail he might’ve missed, some clue in Iwaizumi’s voice or his face or his body language that might’ve alerted Oikawa earlier on to the fact that he was going to lie to him. He’d assumed that Iwaizumi had been uncomfortable for the same reason that Oikawa was—that he was so startled by Oikawa’s attractiveness that he’d become flustered—and, looking back, it had really seemed like that was the case, but maybe Oikawa had misread him somehow. Or maybe Iwaizumi was a brainless jock (Oikawa _had_ dated one of those for a while back in high school) and he was actually dumb enough to forget his own phone number. But Iwaizumi didn’t seem that dumb, and besides, he’d have to be at least somewhat intelligent to be a captain. The more likely option was that he’d done it intentionally. But _why?_

He was brought out of his reverie by the rumbling of his stomach. Rolling over onto his side, he picked his phone up off the floor and turned on the screen. _Shit, it’s already 7._ Somehow, time had passed without him noticing. He glanced over at his tiny kitchen, and at the fridge that was probably empty, and groaned. He really didn’t feel like cooking anything, especially if it meant making a trip to the store to buy ingredients. With a sigh, he decided to order a pizza from Matsukawa’s family’s restaurant, requesting over the phone that Issei-kun be the one to deliver it.

Half an hour later, when Oikawa had buzzed Matsukawa into the apartment and paid for the pizza, he invited Mattsun to stay and eat with him for a bit, like he always did, and Mattsun accepted, like he always did. Sitting next to each other on the couch, with hot, slightly greasy slices of pizza sitting on paper plates on the little table in front of them, it was almost like no time had ever passed, and they were back in college again. There was no shortage of things to talk about.

“How’s Makki doing?” Oikawa asked, between bites.

“He’s good,” Mattsun smiled, the way he always did when his boyfriend was mentioned. “He’s coaching a kids’ volleyball team now. He’s having a lot of fun with it, I think.”

Oikawa nodded. The three of them had all played some volleyball in college, though Hanamaki and Matsukawa had always been more serious about it than Oikawa. Oikawa hadn’t had much time to really play, since he’d dedicated most of his free time to skating even back then.

“Do you still play?” he asked.

Mattsun shrugged. “Eh, not much. I’ve been pretty busy with the restaurant and all. Hey, don’t you have a skating competition coming up?”

Oikawa nodded. “It’s tomorrow, actually.”

Mattsun’s eyes widened. “Shit, man. Are you ready for it?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

He didn’t really have the energy to complain to Matsukawa about what had happened at the rink that day, or to even tell him about it at all. When Mattsun had first showed up, Oikawa had been thinking that his friend might have some advice about the whole Iwaizumi thing. But now, he didn’t really feel like bringing it up. Just thinking about it was starting to ruin his good mood.

It was probably best to just forget about it entirely, delete the contact on his phone and let Iwaizumi Hajime fade out of his life. That wouldn’t be too hard, since Iwaizumi was never exactly _in_ his life to begin with, but still, even the thought of not being with Iwaizumi hurt him somehow. It didn’t even make sense. He didn’t even know the man—in fact, he knew him even less than he originally thought, since his original impression was not of a guy who would give out a fake phone number. There was no reason why Oikawa should possibly want him, and yet, here he was, wanting him with all his heart. He wanted to see that gorgeous face up close, memorize every little detail of it, learn the curve of his lips and the smooth plane of his cheeks until it became second nature. He wanted to see that body without all those layers, feel those soft strong hands on his skin, bury his fingers in that thick dark hair.

_Come on, Tooru, get it together. Stop fantasizing about someone you just met. Especially since that someone gave you a fake cell phone number._

“Hey, you want me to put the rest of the pizza in the fridge?”

Matsukawa’s voice brought Oikawa back to his senses. Blinking at his friend, he nodded, and Mattsun got up.

“Thanks,” Oikawa said, as Mattsun came back and collected their paper plates to throw in the trash.

“No problem,” Mattsun replied. “Thanks for having me over.”

Oikawa mustered a smile. “Sure. Give Makki your love for me.”

Mattsun laughed, picking up his keys from the table and making his way to the door. “Oh, I will. See ya, Oikawa.”

Oikawa waved, grinning at his friend, but as soon as Mattsun had left, the smile faded. He gave a heavy sigh, slumping back against the couch. _Pull yourself together,_ he told himself. _Forget about Iwaizumi; you’ve got a competition tomorrow._ And with that, he decided once and for all to put the elusive—and attractive—hockey captain out of his mind for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good luck with that tooru
> 
> Will Oikawa really be able to get himself out of Hot Hockey Captain Hell? Is Iwaizumi really as much of a dick as he seems? Also, how fucked is Nishinoya? Find out next week (hopefully)!


	3. Asahi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noya’s expression shifted, and Asahi wondered if he’d said the wrong thing. That would be like him, he thought, to fuck this date up before it even started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaand we're bACK to watching Tall Bearded Dumbass and Tiny Loud Dumbass attempt at relationships. what could possibly go wrong?

Asahi had never been more nervous. Well, actually, that wasn’t quite true. After all, there _was_ that time when he had to read a poem in front of his entire high school, not to mention the time when his roommate in college had set him up on a blind date—with a _girl_ , no less—and the time when Suga had started giving him some long, heartfelt speech about feelings and Asahi was worried he was about to propose (he felt so bad about having to let Suga down, but he’d have no choice, considering they weren’t even dating). So maybe this wasn’t the most nervous he’d ever been in his life, but it certainly ranked pretty high up on the list.

Still, as he sat on the bleachers outside the hockey rink, waiting for six-thirty to arrive, he decided to move today up a few spots on the “times he’s been nervous” list, which had gotten extremely long as the years went by. As of six o’clock, it was above the poetry recital and Suga’s proposal (which had turned out to be just a harmless speech about feelings after all), but below the blind date. As of six twenty-five, it had risen above the blind date as well.

He didn’t even know why he was so nervous. It wasn’t a serious date or anything; after all, Noya had only suggested it as compensation for crashing into him on the ice rink. There was no pressure to _do_ anything. Part of him was worried that Noya would turn out to be a homophobic asshole, but considering that he’d been the one to suggest the date in the first place, it was unlikely. Even if he was straight and this “date” wasn’t in any way romantic, the fact that he’d _wanted_ to go on a date between two men proved that he was at least comfortable with the idea.

Besides, Nishinoya Yuu was extremely cute. When Asahi had fallen on the ice and looked up to see Noya standing over him, he hadn’t expected a face like _that_. Those bright eyes, that big toothy smile, that dark hair that seemed to have a personality all of its own—Asahi almost didn’t mind getting injured, when the person injuring him was so ridiculously adorable, not to mention _attractive_. With these more pleasant thoughts swirling through his mind, he decided to drop his nervousness ranking down a few notches, below even the poetry incident.

Suddenly, a shrill blast of a whistle tore him from his thoughts. He glanced over at the clock. Six-thirty, it read. _The moment of truth_.

Below him, the hockey players finished up their scrimmage and headed over to the penalty box. An older man with bleached blonde hair who appeared to be their coach was giving them a talk, and when he finished, the players all bowed their heads and thanked him in unison. Then, before Asahi knew it, they were all leaving the rink, heading past the bleachers in the direction of the locker room with plastic guards over their skates and bags slung over their shoulders. And there was Noya, talking and laughing with a tall guy who must’ve been his friend Ryuu that he’d mentioned earlier. As they passed by, Noya looked up at Asahi, standing at the top of the bleachers. He waved up at him, a huge smile on his face, and Asahi’s stomach dropped.

 _Well_ , he thought, his body going cold. _So much for not being nervous anymore._  

Once all the players had left, he slowly made his way down the bleachers and over to the benches outside the locker room, where Noya had taken him to clean up his cuts earlier that day. Feeling uncomfortably jittery, he sat down on the bench farthest from the door, clasping his hands together in his lap.

In almost no time at all, the locker room door swung open, and Noya stepped out. Ryuu was with him, but when they spotted Asahi, Noya waved him off and came forward alone. He had changed out of his practice clothes, and was wearing sweatpants and a black t-shirt that said Karasuno Hockey on it. That sent a rush of relief through Asahi. He’d been worried that _he’d_ end up underdressed, since he didn’t have time to go home and change out of the ripped jeans and baggy sweater he had worn to go skating.

“Hey, Asahi! How’s it going?” Noya asked, still grinning. If he was at all nervous, he hid it pretty well.

Asahi shrugged. “I’m good.”

Noya’s smile never wavered. It was starting to get a little unsettling, actually. “Is your leg still hurting?”

Asahi shook his head. It hadn’t really bothered him at all since Suga had talked to him, a few minutes after Noya had gone back to the ice.

Finally, the smile faded a little, and Noya’s face softened. “That’s good. I’m really sorry about that, by the way.”

“It’s fine,” Asahi said. “So, um, where are we going for dinner?”

Noya’s expression shifted, and Asahi wondered if he’d said the wrong thing. That would be like him, he thought, to fuck this date up before it even started.

But no, Noya didn’t look angry. He looked almost guilty again. “I, uh, I’m not really sure,” he finally said, his voice wavering a little. “I know I said I’d take you to dinner and all, but, well, I don’t really have much money right now—it’s pathetic, I know, but we could go to McDonald’s, I guess, or—”

“That’s okay,” Asahi interrupted. He didn’t know why, but he felt a surge of _something_ for this guy. He barely knew him, and yet… He didn’t really want to take the time to figure out what it was. Not just yet. “McDonald’s is fine with me. Or, you know, I can always pay, if you want to go somewhere else.”

Noya’s brows furrowed. “Hmm, well. I mean, I _did_ promise I’d buy you dinner, but McDonald’s is kind of a shitty place for a first date…” He rubbed his chin, ponderously. He actually seemed almost nervous, for once. It was surprisingly cute.

_Wait. He said “first” date, didn’t he? That means he’s planning on having more._

“Don’t worry about it,” Asahi immediately responded, feeling suddenly confident. “McDonald’s is fine.”

Noya raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure? Well, alright then.”

Asahi nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure. Should we get going?”

He stood up. Noya laughed. _Damn, his laugh is hot, too,_ Asahi thought.

“Okay,” Noya said, still grinning. “I don’t have a car, but it’s not too long of a walk. Sorry about that.”

“No worries,” Asahi responded, as they made their way out to the exit.

 

* * *

 

“So…” Noya said as they sat down at a somewhat-grimy booth, setting the tray with their food on the table between them. He sounded nervous. It was the first time either of them had spoken to each other since they’d left the ice rink.

“So,” Asahi repeated, equally nervous, if not more so.

Noya gave a hesitant chuckle. “Um, how have you been? Well, uh, I guess I already saw you earlier today, so probably nothing’s really different, um…” He trailed off.

Asahi smiled, in spite of everything. In spite of how _horribly_ this first date was already going. When he tried to respond, though, his voice threatened to fail him.

“I’ve been, uh...better?” he said weakly, immediately realizing his mistake. “Shit, no, _good_ , I meant good. I’ve been good. That’s what I was, uh, that’s what I was trying to say.”

 _Damnit._ This was just getting worse and worse. And Noya was _cute_ , too. This would’ve been so much easier to deal with if he wasn’t.

“Oh, um, okay,” Noya nodded slowly.

They fell silent again. Suddenly remembering the tray in front of him, Asahi slowly reached for his hamburger, stopping short once he’d started to unwrap it. Maybe he shouldn’t be the first one to start eating, he worried. What if it made him look like a glutton? If he ate too fast, he’d definitely look bad. And he didn’t want Noya to think he was impolite or anything. After all, it _was_ Noya who was paying for this. Maybe he should wait until Noya started eating…

Asahi had just barely realized that his mental panic was probably playing itself out on his face, when Noya cleared his throat. He looked worried, and Asahi knew the other man must’ve noticed his stress.

“Are you okay?” Noya finally asked.

“Y-yeah,” Asahi replied, trying to sound convincing.

“Hey,” Noya said, his voice strangely soft. “I’m sorry I put you through this. I just thought—well, I felt bad for injuring you, and you’re _really hot_ , so I kind of panicked, and said the first thing that came to my mind. I should’ve realized you didn’t really want to go on a date with me. I’m sorry.”

Asahi was speechless for a moment. He stared at Noya in shock, his burger dilemma long forgotten. So _that_ was what Noya was worried about. But wait—

“Y-you really think I’m hot?”

In hindsight, maybe that shouldn’t have been what he took away from all of this. But Noya didn’t seem to mind. He quickly unwrapped his burger and took a huge bite before responding.

“Um, _yeah_. Have you even seen yourself?”

Asahi shrugged. “I mean, I guess I have, but—”

Noya laughed, a sound that actually seemed genuine. “Wait a minute. You’re telling me you didn’t _know_ that you were ridiculously attractive? You haven’t been doing it on purpose?”

“D-doing what?” Asahi was lost.

“Being hot!” Noya exclaimed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Asahi wilted a little.

“I-I don’t think that’s something you _can_ do on purpose…” Asahi tried to reason with him, but Noya wasn’t listening.

“So wait,” he was saying, still in that uncomfortably loud voice that surely had heads turning in their direction (Asahi was too scared to look). “If you don’t know that you’re hot...Then why are you acting like this? Is it _not_ true that you don’t want to be here?”

Asahi blinked at him. “I never said I didn’t want to be here. And besides, _you’re_ also...what was the phrase you used? Ridiculously attractive?”

Noya’s eyes widened. A blush started to spread across his cheeks, but he quickly chased it away with a grin.

“Of course I’m ridiculously attractive!” he cried, practically shouting by this point. Suddenly, the grin faded to something smaller, something more shy. “Wait,” he said, quieter now. “Do you really think that?”

Asahi nodded quickly. “Yeah,” he said. _No shame anymore. Might as well just spill your guts._ “Honestly, that’s mostly why I was so nervous. Because you were hot, and who knows what you’d think of me?”

Noya laughed loudly, a jarring sound, yet somehow calming at the same time.

“That’s what you’re worried about? That’s what _I_ was worried about!”

Asahi raised his eyebrows in surprise. “R-really? But—wait—”

Noya interrupted his spluttering. “Yup. I mean, I don’t really know anything about you! What your first name is, what you do for work, who your friends are, _anything_.”

It took Asahi a moment to find his voice.

“W-well...I actually told you my given name. My last name’s Azumane, though.”

A smile danced across Noya’s face. “Azumane Asahi. Hm, alliteration. I like it.”

“Uh, thanks,” Asahi mumbled.

“Hey, wait,” Noya said, suddenly louder. “You—why’d you tell me your given name in the first place?”

Asahi found himself lost for words once more. “I-I dunno. It made more sense to me at the time, I guess. I mean, that’s what my good friends call me…”

Asahi couldn’t quite read the expression on Noya’s face, but it seemed almost...awestruck?

“Lemme get this straight. A complete stranger knocks you over while you’re ice skating. He helps you up, and you instantly consider him a good friend. You’re an interesting guy, Asahi.”

Asahi froze in panic. “W-what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Noya smiled. “Oh, nothing. Well, nothing bad, at least. So, do you have a lot of people who you’d consider ‘good friends’?”

Asahi shook his head, suddenly embarrassed. “Not really...Well, it’s mostly just Suga, and his fiancé Daichi. We, uh, we were friends in college. So, I guess it’s just them. And you, now.”

Noya’s smile turned into something more closely resembling a smirk. “I’m flattered,” he said.

Asahi felt his cheeks heat up. “Oh, um, good? I guess? I…” he trailed off, unsure of how to salvage this situation.

Noya merely laughed. “Anyway...What do you do for work?”

Asahi froze at the sudden question, feeling a rush of shyness, for some odd reason. _Come on,_ he urged himself, trying to calm his nerves. _You can tell him._ Still, he stalled for a few moments by unwrapping the rest of his burger and taking a small bite. Fast food was usually too greasy for his tastes, and this was no exception, but it would certainly be impolite to not eat _anything_. He quickly finished chewing before he responded.

“I, uh, I don’t really work right now. I’m in law school, so there isn’t really time for much else.”

Noya gave a low whistle. “Law school. _Daaamn_. You gonna be a lawyer?”

“Well, um, yeah. Th-that’s kind of why I’m going to law school.”

Shit. That came out rude, didn’t it?

Noya just grinned. “I didn’t realize I was dating someone so _accomplished._ ”

Asahi immediately backtracked. “I-I’m not actually that accomplished, I mean, it’s only my first year—I’ve got a lot more to go—”

Wait. He said they were dating. _Well, obviously,_ he immediately scolded himself. _You_ are _on a date right now, after all._ But still. “Dating” sounded different. “Dating” made it real.

“Alright, alright,” Noya said, obviously trying to calm him. “Either way, you’re still more accomplished than me.”

“B-but—That’s not true at all! You’re on a hockey team, and that’s awesome! I don’t even know how to ice skate!” Asahi didn’t know why he was defending this guy, or what he was defending him _from_ , just that somehow, it was something he had to do. The word “dating” was still echoing in his mind. _I wouldn’t mind dating Noya,_ he finally decided. _I wouldn’t mind it at all._

“Pfft,” Noya snorted. “You can’t really make a living being on this kind of hockey team. ‘Specially when you play the position of ‘Number One Benchwarmer’.”

“Oh,” was all Asahi could say. “Oh. Well, you looked pretty good out there to me.”

Noya shook his head. “Nah. Tiny guy like me can’t do much in an actual game, especially not as a forward, which is pretty much all I know how to play. Honestly, if I didn’t love the sport so much, I would’ve given up a long time ago. ‘S not like I’m gonna grow anymore.”

He didn’t exactly sound sad, Asahi thought, more like resigned. He felt bad for the guy, but it wasn’t like there was anything he could do. Noya _was_ extremely small, after all, and while Asahi didn’t know anything about hockey, he supposed it made sense that someone his size would have a difficult time.

“What about if you learned another position?” he suggested. “Is there a different position that shorter people can play?”

Noya shook his head slowly. “Not really. Well, I guess you could play goalie if you were short, but—no, that wouldn’t work. It’s fine. I’m over it. Thanks, though.”

Asahi nodded slowly, gave him a small smile. _Now I made him sad, damnit,_ he thought. _This is not going well at all._ He could hear Suga’s voice as a distant echo in his head, chastising him the way he always did when he got too negative. _I should probably change the subject,_ he decided. _There’s still chance to salvage this if I act quickly._

“So, uh, do you live close to the ice rink? Since you said you didn’t have a car, I mean.”

Noya seemed relieved at the new conversation topic, or maybe Asahi was just imagining things. Still, there was hope.

“Why? You wanna come over after this?” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Jeez, Asahi, I didn’t take you for the kind of guy who’d wanna fuck after the first date, but I guess I wouldn’t be opposed.”

Asahi felt his cheeks heat up. “N-no, that’s not what I meant—” he tried to defend himself. He was a little embarrassed at how flustered he was getting, though he had a right to be, with how absolutely _lewd_ Noya was being. Still, maybe this was a sign that Noya was starting to feel more comfortable around him.

“I know, I know. Just messing with you. And yeah, I’ve been kinda crashing at Ryuu’s place for a while, until I can find my own apartment. He lives a few blocks away from the rink.”

Asahi nodded, a little calmer now, feeling his face slowly return to its normal color. “You two must be pretty good friends. How long have you, uh, lived together?”

Noya sighed, his gaze lingering in his lap, all trace of his former mirth gone in a heartbeat. _Shit, I made him sad again._

“D-don’t judge me, alright?” Noya finally said, his voice extremely quiet. “But it’s, uh, I guess it’s been more than just a ‘while’. Like, well, since we graduated college.”

There it was again. That pang, sharp in his belly. This time, Asahi was a little closer to figuring out what it was. It wasn’t pity, or even sadness. Somehow, it almost seemed like longing. Like some part of him _wanted_ this guy, wanted to date him, to keep him close, to let him stay in the extra room in Asahi’s apartment—or even Asahi’s own room, his own bed—instead of what was surely a couch (or worse) at his friend’s.

Noya looked up all of a sudden, finally meeting Asahi’s gaze. There was a question shining in those big dark eyes, a plea, almost. _Please,_ he seemed to be begging. _Please, say something. Tell me what you think of me, now that you know about this._

“I would never judge you for something like that,” Asahi said finally. _Thank you,_ those beautiful bright eyes seemed to say. He felt a smile creeping across his face. “Besides, how long has that even been? I mean, you can’t be much older than me, right?”

Noya smiled a little too. “It’s been a year.”

“See? That’s not so bad. And that means you’re younger than me, since I graduated two years ago.”

Noya’s eyes widened. “Really? I thought you were—”

Asahi laughed. “Older than that? Yeah, that’s what most people think. Don’t worry about it, Noya. Don’t worry about anything.”

He was one to talk, he thought somewhat bitterly. But hey, it had been good advice when Suga and Daichi had told it to him, even if he hadn’t been able to make much use of it. It couldn’t hurt to pass it along.

After that, conversation came much easier, and Asahi was actually enjoying himself. Noya was a really funny guy, as it turned out, and on more than one occasion Asahi found himself laughing so hard he thought he might throw up the few bites of hamburger that he’d taken. Luckily, though, nothing like that had happened, and he didn’t even choke on his soda or _anything_. He even got Noya’s phone number. This was going so well!

He quickly discovered that he hadn’t needed to worry so much earlier about his own eating, since from the first lull in their conversation, Noya had been wolfing down his meal as if he hadn’t seen food in years, sometimes not even bothering to finish chewing before he started talking. Asahi should’ve been disgusted by his date’s lack of manners, but somehow, he found it almost endearing.

Everything about Noya was endearing, really, from his bursts of laughter that exploded too loudly and lasted too long, to his ridiculously dirty jokes that made other people in the restaurant turn and glare or shield their children’s ears, to the wild flailing of his hands—too out-of-control to really be called gesturing—whenever he got deep into a story he was telling. None of his supposed “flaws” were really flaws: he’d laugh at any pathetic attempt at humor that Asahi made, even if it wasn’t even close to being funny, and he could make even the filthiest lines sound like poetry as they rolled off his tongue, and his eyes would light up with the most intense passion that was absolutely beautiful to behold whenever he spoke. No matter how mundane or uneventful the story he was relating, Noya managed to make it interesting.

All too soon, though, Noya was finished with his food, and Asahi could only force down so much. He wanted more than anything to sit here, in this rundown McDonald’s that was as filthy as Nishinoya’s favorite jokes, and talk to this beautiful and perfect man for the rest of eternity. And they did, for a while, but certainly not for all of eternity. Because the darkness outside was intensifying, and the restaurant inside was emptying, and before they knew it, the gangly teenaged cashier was coming out from behind the counter and warning them that he was closing up in five minutes.

“What kind of McDonald’s closes at nine o’clock?” Noya grumbled, but he got up anyway, bringing Asahi’s trash with his own over to the garbage can in the back. Reluctantly, Asahi stood up too, and followed his date to the door.

“Shit,” Noya said, a little breathlessly, once they had stepped outside into the chill night air. “That was—that was amazing. That was really fun. Thanks, Asahi, for coming. And for agreeing to come _here_. I know McDonald’s is kind of a terrible place for a first date.”

Asahi smiled broadly. His heart was dancing in his chest, and he was so happy, he actually felt lightheaded.

“Thank _you_ for taking me. And seriously, it’s no big deal.”

Noya snorted. “Okay then. I still owe you a real first date, though. Like, at a real restaurant or something.”

“Alright,” Asahi laughed, feeling like his face would start cramping up if he smiled any wider. “Next date can be our first, then. We’ll have a do-over. Pretend today never happened.” If it was even possible, to erase a night as perfect as tonight from his memory.

“Sure,” Noya said, grinning. “I’ll take you somewhere _really_ fancy to make up for tonight. I promise. I might have to spend the rest of the month washing dishes in their kitchen to pay it off, of course, but hey. If that’s what I need to do, I’ll do it.”

“Noya, you really don’t need t—” Asahi started to say, but Noya cut him off.

“Yeah, I do. Just let me spoil you, goddamnit. Even if it’s only for a few hours.”

“Okay,” Asahi finally agreed. He didn’t know how, in such a short time, they’d gotten to a point where the fact that there’d _be_ a second date was completely unquestioned, without anyone having to even ask. But hell, he wasn’t complaining. “But the third one’s on me, then.”

“Fine,” Noya huffed, even though Asahi knew he wasn’t actually irritated. “But you’d better not outdo me, or there’ll be hell to pay.”

“Challenge accepted,” Asahi beamed, and Noya gave him a playful punch on the arm, mock-glaring up at him in a way that made his heart melt. On impulse, Asahi reached out, wrapping the smaller man into a hug without a hint of nervousness. Noya leaned into him, holding him tight, and Asahi had never felt warmer than he was in that moment.

Eventually, Noya broke away, and his skin, glowing golden in the light from the streetlamps, was flushed. He grinned.

“Well, see ya around, Law Student,” he teased.

“You too, Benchwarmer,” Asahi countered. Noya’s grin never faltered.

Then, he did something that surprised Asahi, something that made his blood freeze to ice and boil into vapor all at once, something that left a burning itch on his skin for the rest of the night. He stood up on his tiptoes and kissed him.

Not on the lips, which was probably for the best, because Asahi would’ve combusted right then and there, but on the cheek, right below his left eye. His hands cupped the sides of Asahi’s jaw as he pressed his lips to Asahi’s skin, and he held on far too long than was really necessary for a quick peck on the cheek. Eventually, though, he let go, leaving two cold spots right at the top of Asahi’s neck and a little circle of heat on the left side of his face, and slung his bag higher on his shoulder.

Asahi didn’t even have a chance to say anything—though what would he even say?—before Noya was off. He turned back once, to flash a glowing smile and a little wave, before he headed up the street and vanished from view. And Asahi was left there, standing like an idiot in the McDonald’s parking lot, his arms crossed across his chest from the cold even though every inch of his skin was on fire.

As he finally tore himself away and started off in the other direction, towards the bus stop, he felt nerves flutter in his stomach once more. But what even was there to be nervous about? The date had gone so, so well, and Noya had even kissed him. They were committed to a second date, and maybe even a third, and all Asahi would have to do is text the number Noya had put into his phone to set it up. And yet, he was still nervous, with no idea as to why. Maybe he’s just a nervous guy, he considered, as the bus pulled up to the curb and he stepped inside. After all, worry _did_ tend to be his default state; maybe this was just an extension of that. But as he paid the fare and found himself a seat in the back, he was still convinced it was something more. Maybe he’d said something bad during dinner, and he just couldn’t think of it right now. Maybe he and Noya were somehow telepathic now, and Asahi’s body would react like this whenever Noya was in danger. Maybe there was something urgent Asahi was supposed to do today, and he couldn’t even remember that he’d forgotten...Or maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t nerves that he was feeling.

Maybe this was love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha. sorry. this chapter got a lot longer than i was planning. also a lot gayer. but. well. you know.
> 
>  
> 
> goodbye friends


	4. Oikawa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe there was a better way to get his revenge, Oikawa finally decided. One that didn’t involve murder and/or getting permanently banned from the Karasuno ice rink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapters are going to start getting a lot longer from here on out, now that the plot's getting going.
> 
> also, I adjusted the chapter count estimate to 9 instead of 12. it might end up being 10, though. we'll just have to see.
> 
> side note: i actually don't really have any experience with figure skating and all my information about what a competition is like has been gathered from the internet. if i got anything wrong, PLEASE do not hesitate to let me know so i can fix it!

Oikawa Tooru should’ve seen this coming.

It was a shame, too. The day had started off so well.

He woke up at precisely eight o’clock—early for a Saturday morning, but he couldn’t afford to sleep in late today—his whole body buzzing with competition-day excitement. He rolled out of bed, all traces of sleep immediately melting away, and slipped into his skating costume. It was a beautiful outfit, he reflected, as he pulled it on. The top was white, and completely covered in a design of stylized feathers, mostly white with a few silver ones mixed in, and all of them outlined in gold thread. The feathers continued down his right arm and chest and stopped at his waist; the left arm was turquoise-blue, the same shade as his pants, and both were solid with a couple more feathers trailing down the sides. He’d ordered the outfit from Sawamura’s shop—custom made, of course—and it really fit him well.

After a quick breakfast, he threw a jacket on over his outfit, grabbed his bag, and headed out. Normally he walked to the rink, since it only took half an hour or so, and the extra exercise was always good, but he didn’t want to risk anything today, so he took the bus. Since it was hosted by his club, today’s competition was at the local rink, the same rink where he always practiced. That always made things easier.

The parking lot was completely packed with cars; it wasn’t a particularly big competition, but locals usually turned out to support the Karasuno Skating Club events, and he remembered from last year how many people had come to watch. He pushed through the crowds, people on either side of him backing away as he passed, and made his way to the door. As soon as he stepped inside, he was attacked by a huge throng of teenage girls.

“Oikawa-saaaan!” they were screaming, pushing themselves closer to him. “Oikawa-saaan, are you gonna win today? We wanna see you win!”

Oikawa wasn’t surprised. He was pretty well-known among the figure skating community, and his good looks had made him popular in even wider circles. While he couldn’t pretend it wasn’t at all flattering to know that so many people came to competitions just to see him, it _did_ get on his nerves a little when he actually had somewhere he needed to be.

He couldn’t afford to let it get on his nerves too much, though; not when he was surrounded by cute girls (even if they were several years too young for him). Or at least, if it did, he just couldn’t let it show. He flashed a cheeky smile, rubbing the back of his neck in a sort of feigned shyness that girls always ate right up.

“I hope so~” he responded, his voice light, when they began to push closer, still asking if he’d win for them. “I wouldn’t wanna disappoint you cuties, not since you came all this way to see me!” He added in a wink for good measure.

That made them start squealing, but when Oikawa took a step forward, they ran away, arguing over which one of them that wink was meant for and giggling uncontrollably—“I can’t believe he called us _cute!_ ” When they were gone, Oikawa made his way over to the registration table. _All in a day’s work._

What felt like mere moments after he signed in, he heard the call for official practice sessions to begin. Groaning to himself, he headed over to the bathroom to quickly fix his hair, and then out to put on his skates near the entrance to the ice. The skaters competing in the pairs program had the ice first, so he sat down on a bench outside the rink and waited with the rest of the singles.

As he retied his skates for what felt like the hundredth time, a strange thing happened. He actually felt _nervous._

 _What the fuck is this?_ he thought, digging his nails into his thighs to calm their jittering. He hadn’t felt nervous like this in _years._ So why now?

He was brought out of his thoughts by the referee, who was shouting for singles competitors to start their warm ups. He quickly stood and slipped the guards off of his skates, eager to make it in the first group.

The practice session went by in a blur. At one point, he skated by his coach standing just outside the rink, and Mizoguchi-san actually _smiled_ as Oikawa passed by. That settled his nerves a little bit; the man rarely ever smiled, except when Oikawa was doing extremely well. Since this was a pretty minor competition with a lot of competitors, he didn’t even get to practice with his music, and he only had a few minutes before he was ushered off the ice to make way for the next group.

He checked the program schedule he’d picked up earlier, when he was signing in. The singles program wasn’t for about two more hours, so he decided to take his skates off and watch the earlier programs from the bleachers. The first program was pairs.

By the time he sat down, the first few competitors had already finished, and a new pair was just taking the ice. “Kindaichi Yuutarou,” the announcer called out, and Oikawa recognized the name and the blue velvet-clad man who skated out onto the ice. Kindaichi had joined the Karasuno Skating Club not too long after Oikawa had, and Oikawa had even coached the man a bit before he stopped competing in singles events and switched his focus to pairs. The woman with him was someone Oikawa had never seen before, a skinny brunette wearing a dress of pale blue velvet with a pattern that matched Kindaichi’s top. She must be new to the club, Oikawa reasoned, but she moved with an ease that suggested she’d been figure skating for an extremely long time.

After Kindaichi and the brunette—whose name Oikawa hadn’t caught—was a pair who Oikawa didn’t recognize; they seemed extremely nervous to him, and the man nearly dropped his partner on multiple occasions. When they had finished and the sweepers had cleared off the ice, the announcer called the next pair. “Sawamura Daichi and Sugawara Koushi!”

A slender guy with silvery hair skated out, followed by a somewhat stocky, dark-haired man. _Sawamura,_ Oikawa thought. _That must be Dai-chan!_ Not only did the Sawamura family run the skating shop where Oikawa had always gotten his costumes and equipment since he was little, but they were also close friends with Oikawa’s parents. He’d completely forgotten that they’d had a son his age; he hadn’t seen the man since they were little kids.

Daichi and his partner, Sugawara, looked pretty good out there, Oikawa thought. They were certainly better than the last pair, at least. Their song was a classical piece, slow in tempo but with a nice melody, and their choreography seemed pretty solid. When the music faded out and they took their bows, beaming up at the audience, Oikawa found himself caught up in the spectators’ cheering.

Next up was a tall, skinny guy with messy dark hair—“Yamaguchi Tadashi”—and a tiny blonde woman—“Yachi Hitoka”, and after them, Oikawa stopped paying attention. The nerves had come back, but then again, he usually did feel a little jittery right before his program was about to start. It had only been weird earlier because his time on the ice was still several hours away.

Finally, the last pairs finished up, and the referees closed off the rink to resurface the ice. It was almost time, he thought, a shiver passing through his body. The judges would review their marks, the pairs advancing to the finals would be announced, and then the first singles competitor would take the ice. Oikawa had already reviewed the starting order, which had been randomly drawn: men’s singles were first, and he was fifth on the list. He made a quick bathroom stop to fix his hair once more and finally take off his jacket, and then went over to the ice, where the competitors were starting to line up.

The results for the previous program were being announced now, but Oikawa didn’t even hear who had advanced. He was too absorbed in his thoughts, trying to forget about his nervousness and mentally prepare himself to perform. He stretched, and retied his skates, but he wasn’t really focusing on any of it. He had to be ready to win.

“Our next competitor is Karasuno’s very own Oikawa Tooru, performing ‘Imagination’!”

A chorus of high-pitched screams and cheers filled the air as Oikawa entered the rink. As he stepped onto the ice, a sense of calm washed over him, flushing the nerves out of his body with each slow breath. _Come on, Tooru._ He didn’t think so much as feel the words, feel them rush through his body with every heartbeat. _This is your element. This is what you know best. So show it!_

 

* * *

 

Two hours later, when all of the singles skaters had finished, the judges came by to read off the scores and announced who would be advancing to the finals. Oikawa leaned back in his seat and only half-listened, his mind still in its post-adrenaline daze. 

“...Tetsurou, Kageyama Tobio, and Oikawa Tooru. And for the ladies, we have…” 

Oikawa jolted upright.  _I’m advancing!_

Well, not like it surprised him, really. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d lost in the first round. The real battle was in the finals. But still, advancing always felt nice. 

He didn’t even look around to see who else had made it; who he’d be competing against. It didn’t really matter in the long run, after all. He merely stood up and made his way back out to the lobby as the skaters who had advanced to the pairs’ finals took the ice. 

He was moving in the direction of the snack stand when suddenly, he heard his name called. He cringed on instinct, before realizing that it hadn’t been a girl’s voice that had shouted. Somewhat reluctantly, he turned around. 

Relief washed over him when he saw who it was. Daichi, his old family friend, was standing in front of him, and so was his skating partner, Sugawara. They were holding hands, Oikawa noticed.  _Those costumes have Sawamura-san written all over them,_ he thought, as he looked at their outfits. They were both similar to each other; all black, with a top made out of a slightly sheer material. Daichi’s had red and orange diamonds emblazoned across the top, outlined in gold thread, while Sugawara’s had blue curved shapes that looked almost like waves, outlined in silver. They both beamed at Oikawa. 

Daichi had grown quite a bit, Oikawa noticed, though it  _had_ been many years since they’d last seen each other. The size difference between him and his partner was huge; they were of similar height, but Daichi was a big guy, where Sugawara was much more slender, not to mention  _pretty._ Like, extremely so. 

“Hey, Dai-chan!” Oikawa greeted the man. 

“Tooru! Long time no see! I saw you on the ice—you looked great out there!” 

Oikawa smiled at him. “Thanks. You did too.” 

Daichi laughed. “Coming from you, Tooru, that’s a real honor. Oh, by the way, this is my fiancé, Suga.” 

Oikawa’s eyes widened.  _Fiancé, huh?_ He’d figured that they were more than just skating partners, but he hadn’t expected that they’d be  _engaged._

“Nice to meet you,” he responded. Suga extended a hand, and Oikawa shook it. “I’m Oikawa. Me and Dai-chan’s families are friends, but the two of us haven’t really seen each other since we were kids.” 

Suga nodded, still smiling.  _Damn, he’s gorgeous,_ Oikawa couldn’t help thinking.  _Not my really my type, though._

Suddenly, Oikawa realized something. “Wait…” he began, his brows furrowing. “Shouldn’t you two be on the ice right now?” 

“We didn’t make it to the finals,” Suga explained. 

Oikawa’s eyes widened. “Really? But you guys were so good!” 

Daichi shrugged. “We had some really good competition this time around, and the judges weren’t advancing as many pairs as they usually do, or so I heard.” 

Oikawa nodded slowly. “Oh. I...see.” 

Suga smiled. “It’s no big deal, really,” he said, his voice gentle. It was almost like he was trying to soothe Oikawa, or something, even though it was surely himself (and Daichi) who needed the soothing. “You can’t win them all, I guess.” 

“It still sucks, though,” Daichi piped up. “But I’m over it.”

Oikawa nodded. “Well, alright then,” he said. 

They were silent for a moment, until abruptly, Daichi’s expression changed. 

“Oh, Tooru, I’ve been meaning to ask...Suga and I are getting married in a couple months. I was hoping you’d come to the wedding. Your parents, too.” 

Oikawa was lost for words for a second. He hadn’t seen the man in years, had almost completely forgotten Daichi even existed, and yet, Daichi still considered him enough of a friend to invite him to his  _wedding?_ But hey, why not say yes? 

“Oh, um, sure,” he finally said, somewhat lamely. 

Daichi’s face lit up. “Really? Thanks so much! I’ll send you an official invitation in the mail in a few weeks. I’ll send your parents one, too. Are they still living in that same house?” 

Oikawa nodded. “Yeah. I don’t live with them anymore, though. I’ve got an apartment not too far from here.” He told a still-beaming Daichi his address, and the man typed it into his phone for safekeeping.

“Thanks,” Daichi said, when he had finished and slipped the phone back into his bag. “Oh, by the way, are you...um, are you dating anyone right now? I only ask because if you are, your partner is invited too.” 

For the first time all day, Iwaizumi Hajime crossed Oikawa’s mind. It was only for a second, but in that second, he wanted to tell Daichi that he  _did_ have someone to bring. But, thankfully, common sense took over, and he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Iwaizumi anymore. The truth was that Oikawa was single, and there was really no shame in telling Daichi this. 

So he did. Without a single trace of shame. 

Okay, maybe there  _was_ a trace of shame. 

Just a tiny one, though. 

Like, half a trace. 

Three quarters. 

Daichi and Suga left after that. They walked towards the exit, hand in hand, and Oikawa was left standing alone by the snack bar, wondering what this strange sense of longing was that tugged at his chest and pooled in his eyes like tears and made him wish, for some reason, that he hadn’t resolved to forget the man whose name was now echoing over and over in his mind.

 

* * *

 

The finals went well. Despite the dull worry nagging at the corners of his brain, he didn’t end up being distracted at all by what had happened, and the weird feeling in the pit of his stomach from earlier vanished as soon as he stepped onto the ice. His song for this routine, called “Fly High”, was an up-tempo piece, and he got to show off the special jumps he’d been practicing for months on end. The crowd’s cheering for him seemed even louder than it had been for his first performance, and the sweepers had their work cut out for them when they came around to clear away the huge mountains of flowers that had been thrown onto the ice for him. 

It wasn’t until after his performance, when he was sitting outside the rink, waiting for the last couple of women to finish up, that a strange, unsettled feeling began to wash over him. It was almost like dread, but not quite; more than anything, it was the uncanny knowledge that  _something_ was about to go wrong. 

The judges announced the winners, finally. Oikawa got second place, having lost to a guy he didn’t know, a man named Kageyama Tobio. As his heart sank in his chest, the way it always did when he lost, he thought with relief that this must be why he was feeling so unsettled earlier. But as he went back onto the ice to stand on the podium and get his silver medal and bouquet of flowers, the feeling was still there, and worse than ever. When the cheering had finally stopped, and Kageyama Tobio had finally finished glaring down at him from atop the raised first place platform, Oikawa skated back to the edge of the ice, the weird feeling coursing through him so potently that it made his legs shake. Normally, he’d be more upset over losing, but right now, he was just  _worried._ About what, he didn’t know. 

When he came out of the bathroom, having taken off his skates and washed his face, he finally learned what his insides had been trying to warn him about. There, standing over near the rink, was none other than Iwaizumi Hajime. 

After the cold panic had finally dissipated, Oikawa was left feeling warm. Too warm. Angry heat was coursing through his veins and radiating off his skin, and he knew in that moment what he had to do. Without even a moment’s hesitation, he broke into a run, hurtling right towards where Iwaizumi was standing. 

When he caught up to the man, though, he froze, his fist in the air, about to strike. He didn’t know what made him back down. He certainly still  _wanted_ to punch Iwaizumi, of course—that douchebag had gotten his hopes up, only to strike him down in an instant, and  _no one_ messed with Oikawa Tooru and got away with it. But still, there was something that made Oikawa hesitate. Maybe there was a better way to get his revenge, he finally decided. One that didn’t involve murder and/or getting permanently banned from the Karasuno ice rink. 

Iwaizumi finally seemed to notice Oikawa standing there, after what felt like several minutes of waiting for the man to realize there was a fist floating suspiciously close to his head. He turned around. 

“Wh—Oikawa? What are you doing here?” 

To Oikawa’s dismay, his heart fluttered in his chest, and his mind felt stupidly excited over the realization that  _he remembered my name!_   Luckily, though, he kept some shred of common sense, and was able to calm himself before it got out of hand. 

“I need to talk to you, Iwaizumi,” he said, practically oozing seriousness. 

Iwaizumi wasn’t as intimidated as he’d hoped. Instead, he smiled, and something about his expression, his stance, told Oikawa that Iwaizumi wasn’t going to respond in a way that Oikawa would like. 

“I didn’t know you were a figure skater,” Iwaizumi said, his voice cheerful.  _Changing the subject. I see._ “You’re really good, too.” 

_Come on, Tooru. You can do this. Just stay calm and clear-headed, but still try to intimidate him with your anger._

“Thank you—I mean, fuck you. That’s—that’s what I meant to say.” 

_Perfect._

Iwaizumi stared at him blankly. “Um, what?” 

Oikawa gave Iwaizumi his best glare. “I’m angry at you, that’s what,” he said, in his angriest voice. “Why did you—” 

Iwaizumi interrupted him, like the asshole he was. “Hey, that’s really awesome that you got second place. You’re really talented.” 

Oikawa forgot himself for a moment, in the way that only Iwaizumi Hajime and his stupid face could make him do. That  _stupid_ fucking face, and those  _stupid_ fucking lips that despite everything, he still wanted nothing more than to kiss. 

“Second place isn’t winning,” was all he could say, trying not to sound whiny even though he probably did. “You of all people should know that. Would  _you_ be satisfied getting second place in a hockey game?” 

“Well, no, but—” 

Oikawa grinned, triumphantly, finally remembering what he was trying to tell Iwaizumi. “See? And besides, I still need to talk to you. Why did you give m—” 

Iwaizumi interrupted him, yet again. Really, Oikawa should’ve expected this by now. 

“Hey, Oikawa, I wish I could chat more with you, but I gotta go. Practice is starting soon, and I told Coach Ukai I’d help him plan some drills. Let’s talk later, okay?” 

And before Oikawa could say anything else, he was gone. 

_He knows,_ was all Oikawa could think. _He knows exactly what he did, and he knows exactly what he’s doing now._ _That fucking bastard._

 

* * *

 

Oikawa Tooru was not going to let this go. 

He stood by the rink, a few minutes after Iwaizumi had ditched him, seething with rage. Iwaizumi had lied; Oikawa was sure of it. The ice was being resurfaced at that moment, and afterwards it would be opened for free skating. Besides, the hockey team didn’t even practice on Saturdays! This was ridiculous. 

Oikawa was seriously considering giving up and just going home, when he spotted Iwaizumi out of the corner of his eye. The man was sitting by the other end of the rink, pulling on ice skates. Not figure skates, or the crappy skates that the rink rented out, but hockey skates.  _What the fuck is he doing?_ Oikawa asked himself. He decided to go and find out. 

But when he got to Iwaizumi, the man immediately stood up. Before Oikawa had the chance to say anything, Iwaizumi had gone over to the rink entrance. As soon as the Zamboni machine was finished, Iwaizumi was on the ice, and out of Oikawa’s sight and shouting range.  _Damnit._ Oikawa wanted to punch something. Preferably Iwaizumi, but really, anything would do. 

He  _had_ to get to the bottom of this. There was no doubt about it: Iwaizumi was avoiding him. So he had to have known that he’d given Oikawa a fake number, and he had to know now that this was why Oikawa was trying to talk to him. But, rather than discouraging Oikawa, this merely intensified his need to pursue Iwaizumi and chew him out for what he’d done. Since Iwaizumi was making it impossible for Oikawa to be with him long enough to talk to him, Oikawa had no choice but to follow him around until he managed to corner him where he couldn’t escape. Whether that would take a day, a week, or even a month, Oikawa didn’t know, but he was prepared to do whatever was necessary. 

“Whatever was necessary,” at this moment, meant waiting outside the rink until Iwaizumi was done skating. Oikawa would’ve gone onto the ice himself if he hadn’t had a competition today, but he knew better than to tire himself out right after competing. Getting himself injured all for the sake of yelling at some stupid man was totally not worth it. So he had to make do with sitting on the bleachers and waiting, playing games on his phone and taking hundreds of selfies to pass the time. 

Iwaizumi (that asshole) wasn’t finished skating until late that night, when the rink was closing. As soon as the announcement came over the loudspeaker, Oikawa jumped to his feet, scrambling down the bleachers to wait by the entrance. Maybe he could snag Iwaizumi as he came off the ice. He would surely be tired and hungry after hours of skating; maybe that would make it easier. Oikawa was certainly tired and hungry after hours of  _watching_ Iwaizumi skate; he hadn’t even dared to leave to get a snack, on the chance that Iwaizumi would slip away while he was gone. 

But alas, Iwaizumi was more clever than Oikawa had hoped, and he rushed past Oikawa as soon as he got off the ice, not even stopping to take off his skates until he was well out of view. Oikawa wanted to chase him down, but his stomach was rumbling angrily, and he would probably be sick if he didn’t eat soon. So, reluctantly, he gave up his mission for the night, grabbed a quick meal at the McDonald’s down the street, and took the bus back home. Tomorrow, he resolved, he would catch Iwaizumi.

Tomorrow, however, proved to be just as unsuccessful as the day before, even though he followed Iwaizumi around  _everywhere,_ not just at the rink. Iwaizumi had showed up to the rink at around nine that morning, after Oikawa had been waiting for him for almost three hours, and after skating, he had gone all over town. At the end of the day, Oikawa simply resolved to catch him tomorrow. 

As the days crawled by, Oikawa was not getting any more successful. Even worse, Iwaizumi seemed to have caught on to the fact that Oikawa was following him, and was making himself even harder to track down. Oikawa was finding himself in places that he’d never known had even existed; in rundown diners and deserted playgrounds, in arcades and alleyways and amusement parks. One time, Iwaizumi brought him close to his parents’ house, and Oikawa was actually considering dropping in on his folks when he remembered the task at hand. It was a good thing Oikawa didn’t have a job at the moment, or anywhere he really needed to be. And, apparently, neither did Iwaizumi. 

Finally, after about a week, Oikawa managed to catch him. He was at a somewhat sketchy little ramen shop, a grimy hole-in-the-wall kind of place with only one surly waitress and a scattering of empty tables. Iwaizumi had just sat down when Oikawa entered the restaurant. Both Iwaizumi and the waitress, who was wiping down a booth nearby with a dirty rag, looked up as Oikawa came in, crossing the room in long strides and flinging himself in the seat across from Iwaizumi. Oikawa quickly scanned the room; the restaurant was empty. Perfect. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Iwaizumi hissed, his expression livid. 

Oikawa shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “Oh, I dunno. Just thought I’d come in for some dinner, and when I saw you here, I figured it might be more fun to sit with my friend.” 

Iwaizumi glared at him. “We’re not friends.” 

Oikawa raised an eyebrow. “Why not? You gave me your phone number. I’d say that makes us friends.” 

Iwaizumi’s expression turned dark.  _Good. I hit a sore spot._

“Why are you stalking me?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. 

Oikawa let out a bark of laughter. “I’m not stalking you! Come on, Iwa-chan, don’t be silly!” 

The look on Iwaizumi’s face was indescribable. It took serious effort for Oikawa not to grin.  _This is perfect._

“Don’t. call me Iwa-chan.” Iwaizumi’s voice was so low Oikawa could barely hear him, but he spat out every word furiously. 

“Why not? It’s cute!” 

Iwaizumi was clearly not amused. “You never answered my question. Why have you been stalking me?” 

Okay, time to get serious. Even though Iwaizumi was really, really hot when he was angry. 

“I only followed you because I needed to talk to you. Why did you give me a fake phone number?” 

Iwaizumi actually looked surprised for a moment, before the expression shifted back into something more neutral. 

“I didn’t give you a fake phone number,” he said calmly. 

Oikawa was speechless. He couldn’t talk, he couldn’t think, he could barely breathe, all because he was so damn _angry_. 

“You fucking  _liar!_ ” he practically shrieked, lunging over the table in a futile attempt to grab Iwaizumi. “You’re such a fucking—” 

Iwaizumi cut him off. He was getting really good at that as of late.  “Calm the fuck down. Until you give me some proof, you can’t accuse me of anything.” 

“Alright, I’ll give you some fucking proof!” Oikawa was actually screaming now. He was livid, seething with rage, even though there was still a part of him that couldn’t help thinking that Iwaizumi was incredibly hot when he was like this. He ignored that part of himself, pulling his phone out of his pocket and shoving it under Iwaizumi’s chin. “See? Here’s your goddamn proof! Right fucking here!” 

Iwaizumi was unfazed. “‘Congrats on second place, my little stud muffin. Love, Mommy’? Is there a clue in the emojis? I don’t get it.” 

“Fuck you!” Oikawa snatched the phone back, roiling with anger when he realized that the text message he’d opened was from his mother. Quickly, he switched over to the message from Iwaizumi. “Here you go, you piece of shit! Right fucking here: ‘Message Delivery Failure — 05:03 PM’. It’s from last Friday, when you gave me your number.” 

Iwaizumi looked down at the phone. Suddenly, the anger faded from his face. 

“Oh,” he said, quietly. “U-um, well, you see…” 

“What is it?” Oikawa hissed. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Iwaizumi said lamely. “I, um, my phone service was canceled for a little while. I forgot about that when I gave you my number.” 

Oikawa was not about to believe such an obvious lie, not when Iwaizumi was making a face like that. “That’s bullshit, and you know it!”

Iwaizumi didn’t respond for a moment. Finally, he nodded. “I—yeah, you’re right. M-my phone service wasn’t cancelled.” 

He looked almost melancholy, an expression that made Oikawa almost forget his anger for a moment. It didn’t completely go away, but he did find himself a little calmer. 

“So you  _did_ give me a fake number.” 

Iwaizumi nodded. “Yeah. I did.” 

Oikawa was surprised for a moment. For Iwaizumi to straight-up admit it, especially after lying about it for so long...he wasn’t expecting that. All of a sudden, he didn’t feel angry anymore. 

“Why, though?” 

Iwaizumi smiled, and Oikawa suddenly remembered why he’d been so attracted to this man in the first place. 

“This might sound kinda weird, but, well...I wanted to see what you would do.” 

_Shit._ That should’ve pissed Oikawa off, and a few minutes ago, it would’ve. But now, he couldn’t quite find it in him to be angry anymore. In a way, he felt almost flattered. Iwaizumi hadn’t given him a fake number because he wanted to get rid of him. On the contrary, he did it because he wanted to see if Oikawa would come closer. And Oikawa had. He wondered what Iwaizumi really felt about Oikawa’s actions. Iwaizumi was testing him, clearly, but had he passed? 

“Well, you saw it alright,” Oikawa finally said. 

“I did,” Iwaizumi agreed. 

“So, what do you think? Did you like what I did?” He was grinning. 

Iwaizumi’s face shifted into a glare, but it was softer than before. “Don’t be so smug about it, Assikawa.” 

Even though his words were just as cold as before, they had no bite to them this time. Somehow, all the tension in the situation had vanished. 

“Aww, you already have a nickname for me?” Oikawa practically purred. “That’s adorable, Iwa-chan!” 

“Don’t call me Iwa-chan, you idiot,” Iwaizumi growled in response. He was smiling, though; an expression so genuine—and so  _beautiful—_ that it made Oikawa’s heart flutter in his chest. 

Finally, the waitress finished wiping dirt all over the clean tables and approached them. Iwaizumi got himself an order of shoyu ramen and eventually caved into Oikawa’s begging and ordered one for him, too. When the waitress left, Oikawa grinned at him. 

“You’re such a gentleman, Iwa-chan, buying me dinner,” he said sweetly. 

“Don’t think anything of it,” Iwaizumi responded, cooly. 

Oikawa just smiled.  _He didn’t tell me not to call him Iwa-chan this time!_

A few minutes later, the waitress came back with their ramen, and they dug in excitedly. 

“Y’know, this is pretty good,” Iwaizumi commented, chewing slowly on the noodles. 

“Mhmm,” Oikawa agreed. “Better than I expected from this gross place.” 

Everything about this situation was better than he expected, really. He’d come here with the hopes of getting revenge, having decided that it would be easier to forget Iwaizumi once he’d had the last word. But instead, he had gotten something else instead, something better. 

As they chatted away, eating their ramen and trading jokes and empty insults, Oikawa couldn’t help thinking that this felt almost like a date. The feeling was intensified when they’d finished eating, and Iwaizumi paid the bill for both of them without Oikawa having to beg at all. 

Oikawa stood up to leave, but Iwaizumi stopped him. 

“Wait,” he said, pulling out his phone. “I want to give you my number. The real one, this time.” 

Oikawa raised an eyebrow, but took his phone out too. “You promise it won’t be a fake one again?”

Iwaizumi laughed. “I promise, you goddamn  _idiot._ I want to see you again, but not when you’re about to punch me.” 

Oikawa balked. “I wasn’t ever going to punch you!” he insisted. 

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you were. Here,” he added, handing his phone over to Oikawa. “Put your number in here.” 

Oikawa typed his number into the contact, then handed his own phone to Iwaizumi for him to do the same. 

“Thanks,” he said, pocketing his phone once more. 

“ No problem, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi responded, without a hint of malice. “Until next time, then.” 

Oikawa nodded. “Until next time.” 

He may have lost the skating competition, but he won something else that day, even if it took a week for him to catch it. Now all that was left was to give Iwaizumi’s contact name the red heart emoji that he’d been holding off on for so long. 

Iwaizumi left the restaurant, turning back and waving once he reached the doorway. 

Oikawa’s smile had never been more genuine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoo!
> 
> because i'm a fucking nerd, i based everyone's costumes off of actual pictures.  
> [HERE](http://livedoor.blogimg.jp/skatesoku/imgs/0/9/091663cd.jpg) is Oikawa's, if you imagine that the pants are seijoh blue, and the right arm is solid seijoh blue instead of that crisscross pattern.
> 
> [HERE](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Sg0TTFVQYQE/UN-gupUEFuI/AAAAAAAAka8/6eJCVcMlqGU/s640/MachidaLP2.jpg) is Daichi's. 
> 
> i couldn't find a photo for Suga's, since i based it off of Daichi's. i made a shitty [sketch](https://40.media.tumblr.com/081eb2d11e215b91cbcc8f06e527514f/tumblr_o1j3mfZqVp1rmwcgyo1_1280.jpg), though. (his pants are the same as Daichi's)
> 
> oh, and here's [Kindaichi's](http://jto.s3.amazonaws.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/12/w3-jack-c-20141227.jpg). just imagine that his partner (who isn't actually meant to be any haikyuu character in particular) is wearing something that looks like that picture, but in dress form.
> 
> By the way, if you hadn't noticed, the songs that Oikawa performs are two of the Haikyuu anime OPs ("Imagination" is the first OP from season 1, and "Fly High" is the second OP from season 2). i kind of belatedly realized that neither of those songs would be very good to skate to. oh well.


End file.
